So totally lost that it holds some beauty, like a stone garden, like
a lotus flower, like an empty seascape. However, I am not feeling
strong enough to feel comfortable in this beauty. I will have to deal
with this.
It is almost amusing : I think there is no way to be more
lost that our story is now. Do you think you can empty a bottle further
than by turning it down, pouring every drop of liquid out of it, and
then standing in the sun for three months waiting for the inside to dry
? You can. I feel this bottle is even emptier than that. It is, so to
speak, filled to the rim with antimatter, anti-anything,
anti-existence. No tiny chance seems to have been left to this love,
this friendship to exist. I remember the wide, heavy doors closing
before the running Paro at the end of Devdas. Such cruelty.
Living in the Western world in 2005 has a way of making you forget that
this kind of cruelty still exists. It still does.
I sent a short,
neutral reply by e-mail last Sunday. Nothing special, just to let you
know that the contact could be established. No reply came. It certainly
means that the contact is not established, or better : that it has been
cut off right before it could even exist. Now, I think that the e-mail
I got was not from your hand. After all, you very probably would not
have written those things to me. Some words are even unthinkable. They
were dictated by some harsh, collective, corporate mind. This was not
your voice. I actually never read your true voice. The e-mail address
- a Yahoo - may even not be yours but created for the circumstance by whoever
needed it. It's so easy.
Now it seems that nothing can ever
come from you. I do not know what is happening over there but I am
reluctant to go any further. I suspect I have already, quite
unwittingly, caused enough harm. I bear such a grudge to my messenger.
How could he be so stupid. It took such a little mistake to screw it
all up. You were exposed, probably put to shame, perhaps you nearly
lost your job. I hope you did not lose it. I am so sorry, my love. I
had no control over this.
Such a total, incredible, blinding,
deafening mess. It is almost like a work of art. If this is artwork by
destiny, it has been chiseled to perfection.
There was something,
and it was so strong, so lively, it shone so bright. The sand has
sucked it up, the wind has blown it away, the hail has broken it up to
tiny unrecognizable bits. Neither of us deserved it and particularly
not you, my friend. I cannot see how things could improve in any way
now. Some voices tell me they can, they tell me they will. I find this
unbelievable but the least I can do is trust them. I am just keeping
this aside for later ; as a now departed friend used to tell me : You shall see. You shall see. I accept that I shall see, I am almost ready to believe it, but for now I cannot see how I could ever see.
I
do not know how I could ever see you again, and if I do see you, how
the communication could resume. Better leave all this in the hands of
God, and this has never kept sorrow at bay. Such is life.
So
abandoned, so white, so naked. This love is just as beautiful in this
state of nothingness. It reaches sainthood. When nothing is left,
divinity appears. The right conditions to pray.
All I am left with
is your beautiful face, that smile that doesn’t even smile at me. When
I look a it, I know there is something wrong with all this mess. It
shouldn’t have happened, we’re connected. We’re brother and sister.
They had no business keeping us apart. This is not normal. This has to
change.
I need to remain modest. What happened to us is nothing
compared to what has taken place during the last decades, in your
country, and near your country. Broken families, impossible love,
crushed lives, deaths, physical and moral torture, disrespect,
oppression. What we got was not even worth a mosquito bite. We’re
nothing.
A flicker of light, maybe a tiny fleck of hope. Please, it
is somewhere in the Universe, where no people who should be together
may ever be separated. Let it come to me, let it rest in my hand.
Please.